… upon reentry to the US, on August 7th:

Yes I know I have been terrible at keeping up to date these past few weeks. Let me try to offer a paltry excuse — wifi is terrible in Europe, at least in my experience staying at hostel residences along with tons of other travelers. It’s not as prevalent in other public spaces as in the US, but I guess in the US I’ve become accustomed to having data everywhere. So every visit to a cafe/museum/store would inevitably lead to an excited cry of “they have wifi here!” or a defeated “nope, no wifi.” How’s that for a thoroughly 21st century generation-Y first world problem?

Anyhow, partly because of the lack of wifi I haven’t been keeping current, so I offer you an after the fact, reflective account of this time. Another excuse may in fact be time. The last week in Paris saw the very last of my undergraduate career — the last final exams, the last final projects, the last presentations and the last late nights studying in the library. Hard to believe that part of my life is over, but it had such a satisfying end in Paris. I’ve never felt such a strange combination of satisfaction, sadness and fondness at the end of it all — the study abroad program itself, the stay at the foyer (dorm) with my peers and of course Paris. I was truly sorry to be leaving and could’ve easily stayed longer. Perhaps more surprisingly as a wearied senior, I would have also jumped at the chance to continue with my classes — for a time at least, let’s be real. But being a student of history and languages for perpetuity doesn’t sound bad at all. Again with the sort of unreal quality of my stay in Paris, but unfortunately life isn’t all about exploring sparkling streets, learning about Louis XIV’s court or exchanging broken French with your friends.

After saying au revoir to Paris and the people I had come to know and been surrounded by for the past 5+ weeks, I embarked on a solo journey to Spain. Many people would voice some concern or doubt at this revelation — “you’re going all alone?”. I understand the concerns what with my being a solo female traveler, but I thought they were a bit overblown and archaic. In fact, while I would not have been averse to a companion on this trip, my being alone was an object for the trip. I’m pretty independent as it is, and I wanted the experience and challenge of traveling completely alone to add to my belt, for the present situation and for future reference. It has turned out to be a wonderful and empowering experience which I would recommend to anyone, but especially to women.

Certainly I went to a major city sans conflict, but I found my stay in Barcelona to be very safe and welcoming all around. Even more validating was the prevalence of other solo female travelers I encountered. All over the city I would see young women on their own dragging their luggage behind them, and in my hostel I met several. The very general profile of the women I met were thus: in her 20s, college graduated, on vacation, visiting multiple other European locations, and perhaps somewhat surprisingly, not single. This was pretty indicative to me, and suggests the badass independence of many young women today who make the conscious and clear choice to travel and see the world on their own.

Of course, other than some similarities, the different kinds of people from all over the world that you meet is what makes solo traveling so cool and unique. Particularly if one is staying at a hostel, everyone else is a traveler as well so it’s fairly easy to strike up conversations and wind up spending time with the people you meet. In reality I spent about half of my stay truly on my own and the rest with others I had met. Both experiences are equally valuable I think, and allow you to try out different things a place has to offer. I will talk more about Barcelona later. I enjoyed my time there and here too wished I had had more time to explore. Sure, in my opinion it’s no Paris (but what is?), and yet, there’s no place quite like Barcelona, a thoroughly quirky, bizarre but beautiful city.

Up until the very last moment of my trip I would get these momentary shocks where I would simply realize, “I’m in Europe?! I’m across the Atlantic? I’m so far from everything and everyone I’ve come to know??” Even walking up the stairs to board my plane bound for Philadelphia I received one last transient thrill of realization, as though even at the close of my little adventure my mind still could not believe it, as though it had all been a dream. And it kind of was.

Speaking of home, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so American as I have on this trip. More than that, I’ve never felt so much American pride before, though it was nothing too extreme. Perhaps “pride” isn’t the right word. It would occur during simple moments maybe while at a cafe or in the street, and hearing a foreign language all around you and everyday lives and rituals occurring so in sync, so understood and normal. Seeing and hearing this you feel a little out of the loop, but then you remember that you have this exact same thing somewhere else — your own way of greeting family and friends and addressing others, your own inside jokes and your own familiarity with a place. Maybe “home fondness” is more of the term I’m looking for?